


Glacially

by androgenius



Category: Glee
Genre: Age Difference, F/M, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-11
Updated: 2012-08-11
Packaged: 2017-11-11 21:51:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/483267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/androgenius/pseuds/androgenius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Rachel is eight, Ms. Yeldell gets pregnant and stops teaching voice, and her soft-spoken, young instructor is promptly replaced by Mrs. Wirtz, a much older, far more commanding woman, who teaches her to belt and use her voice with some strength and command behind it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glacially

When Rachel is eight, Ms. Yeldell gets pregnant and stops teaching voice, and her soft-spoken, young instructor is promptly replaced by Mrs. Wirtz, a much older, far more commanding woman, who teaches her to belt and use her voice with some strength and command behind it. 

Now she's fifteen, and with Mrs, Wirtz's retirement, Rachel is reminded of how truly little she likes change. 

She's used to staying safe in the city by now, and though she's tried arguing countless times that she's certainly old enough by now to take the subway, her dads continue to insist on cabs, pointing out that they're certainly not low on cash, and that there's nothing wrong with spoiling their baby girl. 

Even the building is rather impressive, Rachel notes as she pays the driver and slowly steps out of her ride, not that she's surprised. Her instructor is highly acclaimed, and for damn good reason too, seeing as he's been on Broadway. Anyone who is anyone in the Broadway world here in Manhattan knows of Jesse st. James, and the fact that he's teaching in the first place is impressive on its own.

Rachel has starred in a few small roles off-Broadway, and the idea that this mastermind could help improve her further, no matter how expensive he might be, is exciting. 

She nods to the doorman on her way inside with a smile, going up to the front counter to have her presence called up, and her heart skips a beat in her chest as the woman behind the counter nods for her to go on up ahead. 34th floor, penthouse 2. 

Wringing her hands with some excitement, Rachel chews anxiously on her bottom lip as the elevator _dings_ it's arrival, and she slowly steps out onto the floor. It's large, despite there being only two doors on the whole floor, and she slowly steps to the door with the correct number beside it to gently knock. 

He's even more attractive in person, Rachel's eyes going wide as her breath catches again, and she hurriedly licks her lips with a prompt bow of her head. Respect, not staring. 

"Rachel, yes?" His eyes sparkle, and she nods as she blinks up at him. "Come on in."

"M-Mr. St. James, I-- I can't tell you how much the opportunity to learn from you means to me." If she was impressed with this place already, it's nothing compared to stepping inside. 

"Please," he laughs softly, moving to his kitchen to grab himself a bottle of water out of his fridge and handing her one, too. "It's Jesse. And--" her stomach flutters, "you wouldn't be here if you didn't deserve to be." 

He throws her a wink before taking a sip from his water, brushing his hair out of his forehead with a smile. "How did you get here?"

"Um, with a taxi."

"So no one dropped you off? Good. Depending on how good you are, I might very well end up keeping you here over time, and I'd hate to leave one of your fathers waiting." The heat tinging her cheeks pink is undeniable, and Rachel beams hugely as her small hands cling to her water bottle. "Come on."

He owns an incredible piano, and she can't say she's surprised, moving to stand beside his seat as he sits, throwing her a small smile. "Scales first."

She barely has time to start before he turns around on his bench, shaking his head and waving her over. "No, here-- the shit have your old instructors taught you?-- come here."

Her cheeks color again, hardly knowing what he's asking her to do as she goes to stand between his legs, and he instructs her to breathe. 

"Okay. Again." Only, this time his hands are just under her ribcage, firmly wrapped around her frame to squeeze in on her sides, and she gasps. 

It's the first thing she notices-- how good he smells when he's this close to her, how strong his hands feel, the way her thighs are shifting, one against the other, unsure of why. 

He glances up at her again, slowly nodding. "I need you to breathe into your stomach, not your lungs. Move my hands." 

The amount of resistance he places on her sides is formidable, but she fights to hold her own-- at least until he spins her around, hands right back at her sides, wrapping around her, so tightly she feels she's suffocating. 

But that might be just him, and by the time he drags her in front of the mirror beside his piano to watch herself and the way her chest moves when she sings-- the way her mouth moves and her tongue depresses-- the flush on her face is undeniable. 

"That's right. Try it again." 

Rachel slowly nods, his hands tightening on her a bit as she sings again, and he moves to get up behind her, his head over her shoulder as he tells her to freeze in the middle of the tone. 

"At high pitches, I don't even want to be able to see your uvula, do you understand?" 

Rachel nods, breathless from the tight grip on her sides, how close he is to her, and she slowly closes her eyes as he lets her exhale. 

"Again."

&

"Are you liking Mr. St. James' instruction, baby?" Hiram smiles through the baked eggplant he and Leroy have prepared for tonight, washing it down with a swig of red wine. 

It's been a month now since she started her bi-weekly lessons under Jesse's instruction, and Rachel smiles, nodding. "Yes, daddy."

Tuesdays and Saturdays have easily become the highlight of her week.

"You know how unsure your father was," he adds in, placing his hand on Leroy's with a soft smile, "this being your first male instructor."

"He's very professional, daddy. And...incredibly knowledgeable."

"Yes... we have heard how much you've improved, pumpkin," Leroy smiles, his expression still a bit guarded despite his daughter's words. 

"I've been practicing a lot. And-- he's so good at teaching me."

"I just don't understand how he hasn't asked us to pay for the overtime when he keeps you there two, three hours for every hour we're paying him. Never mind the added cost of dinner when it gets to be after eight by the time you get home." 

"He says I'm his best student, daddy," Rachel beams, her thrill even at her own words undeniable. 

&

It was last week that the idea got into her head. 

Her evening bedtime ritual is extensive as it is, but scooting it forward on Tuesday and Saturday nights leaves her with just barely enough time to add in one extra step, right after her evening chamomile. 

The memory of his face and his touch around her waist is so fresh in her mind on these evenings that she can hardly help herself, and by the time she slips off her pajama bottoms and her robe and slithers under the covers, the urge to touch herself is overwhelming. 

Her fingers find their way easily into her panties, one hand taking to eagerly letting two fingers pump greedily in and out of her, the other rubbing at her clit as she pants and moans as quietly as she can manage, arching off the bed at the thought of her teacher. 

He's almost twice her age, barely thirty, but she can't help herself, doesn't care, and she whimpers his name again as she bucks up against her hands. 

" _Mr. St. James_ \--!"

A part of her always wants to drag the ritual out for as long as she possibly can, but she also knows that she has school the next morning, and that her dads might hear her. Thinking about his face, his touch, his hot breath against her neck, has her coming so much faster than she expects to, a strangled moan leaving her lips at the feeling. 

&

"No, no-- you're doing it wrong."

A part of her can't help but wonder if his mountain frustration has anything to do with his wanting her, too, his hands a little tighter around her, his body pressed a bit more closely. 

"I know you can do better than this, Rachel! We've been over this!" He sighs harshly, getting up from the piano. "Get in front of the mirror."

She obeys quickly, her cheeks flushing as he presses against her, placing firm hands on her sides to keep her close. 

"Stop puffing up your chest. You're not a bird. Do it again."

Swallowing hard, Rachel nods, repeating the breathing exercise that always leaves her sore the next day. 

" _Again_."

Closing her eyes, Rachel bites her lip against the pressure from his hands as he growls into her ear.

" _Again _!"__

"Y-you're hurting me!" 

He's gone from her in a second, running an errant hand through his hair as she sags down on his bench, taking quick, deep breaths at her release, her eyes glued to the floor. 

"I just--" He shakes his head again. "I don't know how to keep doing this."

Within a moment, he's disappearing into the kitchen, a sharp expletive leaving his lips, and Rachel slowly moves to her feet to go after him. 

"I don't understand."

"It means," he growls slowly, pouring himself a glass of scotch, "that you can't come back."

Her heart sinks, her eyes wide at his words as she feels herself swallow down heartbreak, failing. 

"A-am I not good enough?"

When he looks up, he seems almost surprised to find her still there, frowning a bit as he cocks his head, regarding her. "Don't be stupid."

"You said I was your best st--"

"You _are_ my best student."

The glass is downed in an instant, and he promptly refills it, throwing her a glare. 

"But... then I don't understand..."

"What's left to understand? I told you, I won't be teaching you anymore."

"But-- no, I--"

"Do I honestly look like I care?" 

Rachel feels tears well up in her eyes, and he looks at her, quiet for a long moment. 

"You're the best teacher I've ever had."

"And you're fifteen." He chuckles darkly, the words seemingly existing solely as if to remind himself. "I can't do this."

"I'm not leaving."

He can't help but stare at her for a long moment, his jaw hardening as he regards her, nodding her back out to the piano. "Get in front of the mirror."

He’s a loaded canon; she hardly knows what to expect from him anymore, and she quickly moves to stand in front of the mirror as she bites her lip, watching her reflection as he moves to get behind her, grabbing her hips and pulling her flush up against him, his pupils heavily dilated as he leans in to growl into her ear.

“Do you feel that, Rachel?” 

She can smell the alcohol on his breath, brushing hotly up against her neck to make her shiver, his erection pressing against her ass, and she wonders if he’s had to get himself just on the edge of drunk to be brazen enough to even do this as he groans, grinding himself against her.

She whimpers her assent, slowly nodding as his hands find her sides again, softly squeezing before slowly running around to her front, dipping lower and lower on her stomach until they’re dipping below her skirt to slowly drag it up, his fingers teasing between her legs at the stockings just barely covering her panties.

“Stop me,” he growls softly, his eyes closing as the pressure between her legs only increases, slowly rubbing, his free hand shifting up under her shirt to grope at her breast through her bra as he groans. “Stop me, or I won’t.” 

Her eyes slowly close as she leans back against him, not saying a word as his hands run over her body, tearing down her bra on one side to feel her, pinch her nipple, and she _knows_ he knows just how wet she is for him; has been all along ever since he first started touching her. 

“P-please--” she hears herself whimper, feeling her knees go weak as he watches her over her shoulder, his fingers speeding up through her stockings. 

“Please _what_?”

“Please f-fuck me,” she breathes, hardly believing she’s actually saying this as she watches hishand moves up to yank down her stockings and panties, his fingers moving over her slit with another groan as his hand greedily gropes at her bare breast. 

“You little slut,” he groans, gasping against the skin of her neck as he kisses her there. “So good and wet for daddy... you want daddy’s cock?” 

She looks a mess, her shirt pulled up, her bra down, skirt bunched around her waist, panties dragged down to let his finger dip inside of her-- and she loves every second of it.

“P- _please_.”

“Say it,” he growls, his finger moving to quickly pump in and out of her, a wet smacking sound from every single thrust from him. 

“I-I want it,” she stammers, hardly knowing her own words anymore, lips parted in a silent gasp as her body moves desperately against his hand.

“That’s right, you do. You’ve been wet for me this whole time, from the second you first stepped in here, haven’t you.”

It’s not a question, and a part of her wonders whether he even asks questions, or if they’re all just statements, the answer already implied in his words.

He’s right, of course. It’s a loud, resounding _yes_ , her pussy aching for him desperately after every single lesson from him. 

A long, keening whine has him speeding up his fingers inside of her, thumb flicking greedily against her clit as his touch begs her for an orgasm just for him as his hand tearing down the other cup of her bra, and roughly palming at her breast with a sharp groan. 

“Oh god--”

“Come for daddy, baby,” he moans in her ear, achingly hard up against her ass as she feels her body give way to him, whimpering loudly and desperately in the wake of her release. He doesn't even wait for her to finish clenching around his fingers before he pulls out, spinning her around and pressing her up against the piano, pushing the bench aside with his knee as he growls. 

With her ass on the keys, it sounds like they’re making music together all over again, another perfect duet as he tears her stockings and panties off of her and spreads her legs for him to step between.

She barely even has time to glance at his cock once he tugs it out of his pants, burying it deep inside of her in one smooth roll of his hips, groaning, loud. 

“S-stop, hold on--”

Rachel squeezes her eyes shut as pain grips tightly onto his length, biting her lip to muffle her whimper. But he doesn't need to be told to stop. She’s fifteen-- he knows she’s a virgin.

 _Was_.

“So tight,” he moans, pressing his forehead against hers before finally leaning down to capture her lips with his, kissing her, hard, eager to distract her from the pain of his entrance. 

But it’s more than that, too, and she knows that, can _feel_ it in the way he kisses her, the way his hand snakes into her hair and refuses to let go-- hungry, but desperate. 

He’s wanted this, too. 

“Can-- can I--”

He keeps his forehead pressed against hers, and it feels almost intimate when Rachel blinks up at him to nod. Somewhere along the line, the power dynamic shifted. He’s no longer trying to control her, make her pliant as he bends her to his all-encompassing, omnipotent will-- he wants her to want this as much as he does, wants every single whimper, moan, sigh to be won rightfully and earnestly. 

“Yes,” she whispers, nodding hurriedly as she wraps her legs around him, the keys of the piano sounding beneath her ass again with her movement, and he wastes no time in gripping onto her hips, starting to slowly thrust into her with another heady groan.

“Rachel--” His eyes close near-deliriously, and Rachel whimpers again at the feeling of his moving inside of her. There’s still pain, but-- god, she wants it, as much a part of this experience as the pleasure he’s allowing her. 

“ _Please_!” Rachel cries out the second his thumb moves to play against her clit again, her eyes closed in bliss as he shifts their angle-- _music_ , again-- to go deeper inside of her once more. 

“My-- m-my best student,” he whispers in her ear, and Rachel feels her body clench around his length with a shudder, nodding frantically.

“S-say it again--”

“My best student,” he groans, burying himself as deeply as he can manage as she cries out with her orgasm, her head falling back against the sheet music he set up for them, long-forgotten by now.

“Mr. St. James--!”

“ _Yes_ ,” he moans low and loud, burying himself completely one last time, letting her body milk him of his come as he spills himself deep inside of her with a satisfied groan, needing her so much more than he wants to admit.

She’s fifteen.

That knowledge hits him harder than he expected it to as he pants, still worn from his release inside of her, his hand slowly moving up to the edge of the piano for support. A desperate _clang_ resounding from the keys beneath her drives him to quickly, somewhat clumsily, pull out of her. Moving away from her to grab them both tissues, he pushes a bundle of four or five in her general direction as Rachel slips down from the piano, her knees trembling viciously as she stares up at him.

He’s still out of breath. Still can’t believe what happened here two seconds ago, and he clears his throat quietly as he tucks himself back into his pants, refusing to meet her gaze.

“I-- uh. I trust that you’re... on birth control.” 

At least, that’s what he’s praying for, that that’s why she didn’t mention protection, and when she slowly nods, pressing her bundle of tissues somewhat awkwardly between her legs where he’s gradually dripping out of her, he can’t stop himself from audible relief.

Hurriedly picking up her stockings, panties, and shoes, she discards the tissues, throwing him an uneasy glance, biting her lip.

“... will you... keep teaching me?”

It is, quite honestly, the last question he expected out of her mouth, and he can’t help himself as he glances at her, feeling an inordinate amount of guilt wash over his person, swallowing thickly. 

“You don’t have to come back if you don’t want to.”

“But... if I do...”

“It’s up to you if you want to come here again. I won’t say you can’t, but...” 

But he has no idea how she could want to.

Rachel just nods, slipping her last shoe on and quickly hurrying out the door.

He’s convinced at that point, on that particular Saturday, that nothing could bring her back; that he could expect to be arrested by Monday, at the latest, for sexual assault of a minor, _rape_ , even, his hands tainted with wanting. 

And he does want her, still. Wants to love her more than just fuck her, even, as he realizes that following Sunday night, wondering if he didn’t, perhaps, get this all wrong, that he should have taken her out to dinner in an official capacity, _asked her out_ like normal people do, _before_ fucking her on his grand piano. 

Of course, nothing could have prepared him for the knock on the door that following Tuesday, his best student smiling back at him from across the threshold.

This time, he doesn’t waste any time in pulling her in, closing the door, and kissing her, properly, like a gentleman. 


End file.
